I think that the onset of chronic pain, impotence and loss of libido all occurring within 1-1 ½ years of one another were coincidental. Why I have daily hypersexual manic attacks are anyone's guess (except my therapist who isn't hazarding a guess at this time). I never had an actual "one night stand" as I understand them; never met a girl, brought her home and had sex during a 24-hour period. I tried it, but couldn't get an erection.

I had to know a woman for at least 3-4 days and genuinely like them before I wanted to have sex with them. This will sound odd, but I felt as if any woman/girl that I was going to have sex with deserved to know a bit of what they could expect before hopping in bed. So if foreplay on day 3 (or 6 or 60) didn't go well, there wouldn't be any hurt feelings.

The four women that I loved, each for a minimum of 5 years, each stand out for different reasons, which is right and natural. I'm not really sure that "naive" is the right word do describe the way we explored and experimented over the years – I certainly can't say that either of us were experienced! – but maybe naive in the sense that we did what seemed natural. Without going into detail, the "facial" thing. The things that she taught me about periods (yes, we had sex during and I always did and I learned to calculate next periods in my head... then came the miracle of the bc pill). The way that her clitoris became more sensitive from 11 to 13. All of that. God, I could write a book about each one!

I was trying to tell someone, recently, how I would hate to be a teenager today. I didn't think about the sex side of it. Except for the Playboy magazines (where I let my eyes read the curves and not the type) I don't know that there was any access to pornography. And I was, at least, smart enough to know that Susan's curveless body would grow and that her hips and breasts would fill out, which they did.

Naturally. That's how I learned of sex and women's bodies. Not seeing crap on computer screens. By experience. We have had a mutual gushing of thanks over the years; thank you for showing me, thank you for letting me, (in chorus) thank you for loving me.

Now I'm fixated on the second girl that I loved. I'm fixated on love. How good it felt to love and be loved. And the tears start again. Never sure why. I think that I must have thought of love as a journey and that, at the end, you settled in with your true and final love. To my horror, I went beyond my true love.

To my horror.